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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25771153">ghosting.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananasarehellagay/pseuds/bananasarehellagay'>bananasarehellagay</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fae &amp; Fairies, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, I hope you like it!, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Original Fiction, Original Universe, Other, Slow Burn, Spirits, Vampires, not the main ones tho, this is smth ive been working on for a while</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:29:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25771153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananasarehellagay/pseuds/bananasarehellagay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They were lonely.<br/>They’d watched over the graveyard ever since they remembered, long after the bodies were removed and all the headstones were lost in the ground. All of their friends, long since moved on (in more ways than one). They missed the families visitation days, the kind witches who left them offerings and talked to him over long autumn days. No one came around anymore. Now it was just them.<br/>All alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Male Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Mysterious Gardens</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Heya! This is an original work I really enjoy, so if you enjoy it please leave a comment! Whether its just a keysmash, a heart for extra kudos, or your favorite part, I read and enjoy every comment! I also respond to as many as I can!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They were lonely.</p>
<p>They’d watched over the graveyard ever since they remembered, long after the bodies were removed and all the headstones were lost in the ground. All of their friends, long since moved on (in more ways than one). They missed the families visitation days, the kind witches who left them offerings and talked to him over long autumn days. No one came around anymore. Now it was just them. </p>
<p>All alone.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>He was alone.</p>
<p>He loved finding the abandoned places of the world. He moved into the quiet midwest town last week, and was convinced he could find all the hidden secrets it’d buried long before he existed. He skipped over the cracks in the pavement, coins and stones jangling in his bag, rollerskates bouncing against his neck from their tied shoelaces. His black trenchcoat flowed around him. It had always been him, a singular unit.</p>
<p>Never lonely.</p>
<p>Quite the opposite, in fact. He found himself the acquaintances of the town spirits and small creatures flocked to him like nothing else. His favorites (don’t tell the others), were the crows. He was friends with a small flock, training them to talk to him for food, and just to talk. Humans didn’t like his company much. Even so, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t friendly to them. He was just a bit… overzealous. He gave people trinkets and stones as gifts, and often parroted phrases to a point where people would beg him to shut up. Some words felt good in his mouth, while others he refused to say. </p>
<p>He never said thank you.</p>
<p>He never said sorry.</p>
<p>He never said you’re welcome.</p>
<p>He never said his name.</p>
<p>The last one was the most important. You see, he loved his name. He held it to his chest like it was something precious, like it would dissolve if anyone ever heard it. He chose it for himself, after all. Everyone had something different they called him. Some called him the names of plants or birds; others, stones or the sky. He gave out nicknames freely and with great joy. Somehow, with all of his names, everyone knew exactly who he was. By proxy, not personally, of course. No one knew he loved to draw, loved to watch things grow. How he cherished every summer rain, dancing for hours in the hanging droplets. How, even as a boy, he was always odd.</p>
<p>And the most curious thing about him, was the remembering. As soon as he left, it was like he’d never been there. Whenever he returned, it was like he never left. Almost as if the memories of him followed wherever he went. If you were lucky enough to keep your memory of the forgetting, and you asked him, he would pat the golden locket around his neck with a smile. Leaning in, like you were sharing a secret, he would whisper to you the answer. </p>
<p>“I keep them safe for you. Then, I give them back. They <em> are </em> memories of <em> me </em>, after all. That makes them mine, doesn’t it?”</p>
<p>And you would agree. Everyone else does, and you wouldn’t want to upset him.</p>
<p>Forgive me, that sounded threatening, didn’t it? He’s not violent, by any means. Life just goes… sideways, when he’s distraught. The rain falls backwards. The coins don’t shine the same. Apologies always smooth things over, of course. Not normal ones. ‘I’m sorry’ just doesn’t appeal to him. Gifts are how you ask for forgiveness. Milk and honey. Your favorite buttons. A glimmering stone. He’d accept with a smile, and everything would be put to rights.</p>
<p>You know enough about him now, although I’m sure more will come up later. Let’s continue the story, shall we?</p>
<p>He skipped along the pavement. Humming a tune under his breath, he came to a crossroads. Behind him, the rest of the town. Before him, a broken stretch of pavement, heading towards the mountainside. To his left, a gravel trail into the birch woods. To his right, farmland. He smiled at the trail into the trees, waving goodbye to the town before starting into a realm of white bark and fiery vermillion leaves.</p>
<p>The path was old and unkempt, little more than a hansel-and-gretel-esque smattering of stones marking the way. He brushed his hands against the tree trunks. The birds called down to him and grinning he whistled back. The woods weren’t dense here, six feet or more between each tree. Birch branches reached towards the sky. Spindly branches ended in puffs of red-orange leaves, the sweet smell of decomposing leaves and rain floating into the air with every step he took. He carefully skipped down the path, the rubber soles of his boots scuffing against the pathstones. The wood slowly started to open up, sunlight filtering through a clearing ahead. Two wrought iron fence gates hung crooked from their stone hinges.</p>
<p>He slowed down, a smile ghosting across his lips. Somewhere hidden? Somewhere old, something secret? I told you he would find the secrets of this town. He slipped through the gate, humming a tune and leaving a handful of coins at the entrance. Looking around, he quickly found a small plaque, half covered in moss. He carefully moved the creeping plant to read the message. ‘Bodies removed in 1902, now located in Evensworth Cemetery: 15 miles’ Walking along the spaces between the lots, he covered off headstones and left small trinkets at each grave. </p>
<p>“Wh- who are you?” A small voice whispered on the autumn wind. He stilled, feeling the chill wrap around his head and arms.</p>
<p>“A friend.” He responded, voice rasping like two rough stones ground together. “This place seemed lonely, so I thought I could stop by and say my greetings.” His long fingers picked at the frayed edges of his oversized sleeves. Lifting his chin slightly, auburn eyes full of mischief, he swallowed once. </p>
<p>The voice sounded again. It came from behind him, more solid this time. “I appreciate your gifts. It’s been a while, since someone came around.” Slowly turning, he stood face-to-face with the graveyard’s guardian. Their clothes were a baggy sweater over a button up shirt, barefoot with an ankle length black chiffon skirt. They swayed back and forth on their heels, skirt shifting to show golden embroidery of stars and moons. Large ragged wings were politely folded behind them. A faint salmon blush kissed their cheeks, pointed ears, and pert nose. They inclined their head in a small bow.</p>
<p>He bowed back, folding at the waist in one fluid movement. “Glad to be of assistance. You can call me Acorn.” He said, shaking the dark hair out of his eyes.</p>
<p>“Greetings, Acorn. You can call me Wisteria.” They reached out a hand. Acorn looked at the long, pale fingers, raising an eyebrow at the guardian. “To lead you to my favorite place.” Wisteria explained. </p>
<p>Acorn took their hand, calloused and scarred fingers twining with soft cold ones. Wisteria turned, leading him through the overgrown graveyard. Auburn eyes roamed over the small figure. He picked out small details, weaving stray thoughts and ideas into a tapestry containing all the things he knew about Wisteria. They were the guardian of this graveyard, alone ever since the bodies were removed. They had bracelets, buttons, and flowers twined in their dark mullet, all shades of faded blue, all presumably gifts from others long before him. And Wisteria was… gorgeous. Objectively, of course. Their frame was delicate, but not fragile. With every step, the ground seemed to move up to meet their feet. Wisteria was a few inches shorter than Acorn, but had a habit of standing on their tiptoes to look him in the eye. They didn’t seem fully corporeal. He had a feeling it was because of the lack of offerings. A healthy spirit’s offerings -if they choose to wear them- are vibrant, and full of emotion. He wondered if he could change that.</p>
<p>Wisteria lead the way to a small rocky outcropping. They deftly clambered over the boulders, toes slotting into hidden grooves with ease. Acorn followed them, and when he reached the top, he stopped to watch the spirit. Where the sunlight hit them through the leaves, it shone straight through their form, turning the blue-gray skin a blooming gold. The rock was smattered with moss, a small divot in the center filled with leaves. Reaching out of this small bowl in the stone,</p>
<p>A cairn of shining rocks spiraled upwards. Only a foot tall, the cairn seemed to be made exclusively out of rocks with quartz inclusions. The small gemstones sparkled in the dappled lighting, flashing with oranges and yellows, like each one had an inner fire.</p>
<p>They looked out over their home, dark locks swaying in the chill breeze. “This is my favorite spot. The witches that used to come around would leave offerings here, while everyone else would leave them at the gates.” Wisteria rubbed their knuckles against their collarbones. “I can stand right here and see… everything.” Acorn picked his way over to them, standing side by side with the guardian. He sat down, pulling some embroidery floss and a sewing kit out of his pocket. He started on an empty patch at the bottom of his trench coat. Flowers bloomed out of thread and fabric, deft fingers making the smallest details. </p>
<p>“Tell me about them.” He said. Wisteria sat down next to Acorn, looking at him with furrowed brows and twitching fingers. “The people,” Acorn clarified. “The ones that used to lie here, That used to visit.” </p>
<p>A wistful smile flashed over Wisteria’s face. “They were an odd cast of characters from the start.” They said, looking back out towards the graveyard proper. “Practicing witches, outcasts, and thieves, mostly. I worry about them sometimes, how they’re doing without me.” They frowned, grabbing their upper arms and violently rubbing their hands along them. “I protected them here, made sure no one could hurt them anymore.”</p>
<p>Acorn tilted his head, looking straight into Wisteria’s pale lilac eyes. They smiled sadly before continuing. “I don’t pick favorites, and I remember everyone, of course. But there are a few that stand out in my memory.” They fiddled with their bracelets before landing on one. “A pair of young men, lovers. The first time they came here was for one to visit his sister. He was in mourning, and a sorry sight at that. His sister had told me all about their situation. Lila was her name. She had died of an unknown illness. Her brother was the only one providing for her, and he had no money to send her to a bigger hospital. He was heartbroken.” They smiled down at the bracelet, small and homemade. Woven with soft blues and purples, a small brass rose charm dangling from the ties. “He came with his lover, once a week for several months. Watching the two of them grow from the tragedy and together as a couple was something I cherished about the two of them. The last time I saw them, they told me he had gotten a job. A printing press, in a bigger city. I was so happy for him.”</p>
<p>“They seem like quite the pair.” Acorn grinned.</p>
<p>“They were. His lover was mischievous as all get out too.” Wisteria drawled. “Always hiding little things for me to find.”</p>
<p>He propped his chin on one hand. “Tell me more.”</p>
<p>“There was one girl. She loved the sunlight.” Wisteria smiled down at their clasped fingers. “Always finding the brightest spot to lay down. She would give me charms to go on a bracelet her mother left me. She came to visit her.” They uncrossed their legs to show off their right ankle. A small circlet of gold was clasped there, delicate gold charms dangling off the chain. There were little suns in the traditional style, simple suns, minimalist and detailed. All in all, there was about 9 different sun-themed pendants. Wisteria smiled wryly. “Like I said, she loved the sun.” Acorn’s eyes followed the divot of their ankle up the shapley muscle of their calf, finally landing on Wisteria’s smiling eyes. They sat back down, adjusting their skirt so their legs were covered again. “One day, she came to visit, but she didn’t sit in the sunlight. She drifted from grave to grave in the shadows. She looked so sad.” Eyebrows furrowed, They fidgeted with one of their rings. “She didn’t come again after that. I wonder how she’s doing now.”</p>
<p>The two sat and talked, watching the sunset over the treeline. Wisteria grew quiet, beginning to glow in the waning light. They fidgeted with their bracelets. Neither of the two wanted to acknowledge the truth of Acorn leaving just yet. Even so, he stood. Wisteria got up as well. He took their hands in his, kneeling. Acorn cupped their hands, carefully placing a seed within the cradled fingers. “For when I’m gone,” He whispered, the seed blooming into a golden lily of the valley. The delicate flower began to glow, emitting a soft warmth, like it had an inner fire. “As a reminder of me.” Amber eyes sparkled, reflective like a cat’s in the darkness.</p>
<p>“And you’ll return?” A murmur, barely a breath.</p>
<p>“Perhaps.”</p>
<p>And he was gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Milk and Honey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Her lips parted into a sad smile.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i love to see your comments, so don't feel shy to keysmash some feels down there!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They stared at the flower long after he’d left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t sleep that night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Acorn made his way back through the trees, blending in with the shadows. Perfectly pointed fangs and shining eyes kept malicious spirits away. He wandered through the empty town, petting the stray cats and waving at the lovely women in their Sunday best, watching the transparent ladies laugh and wave their fans in return. The town seemed to go back in time during the night, drifting between time periods of the area and the lingering spirits. A crow joined him on his walk, perching on Acorn’s shoulder and cawing secrets into his ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reached the edge of town, navigating quickly through the woods to a circle of brown toadstools. Skipping over the barrier, he laid down in the tall grass, trench coat fading into the ground. He looked up at the sky, fingering the golden locket around his throat. The stars peeked through the leaves, sparkling like sunlight on mulled wine. As his eyes traced the sky, he slipped into a trance. He held his name close, and allowed it to warm him from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cicadas hummed throughout the night, stars fading to make way for a pale blue sky. Acorn sat up when the shade matched Wisteria’s eyes. He brushed his hands over the cool grass, laughing softly at the spray of the morning dew. He got up, making his way through the trees back to town. The people greeted him with smiles and laughter, the crows followed him through the streets. Acorn stopped by a coffee stand, graciously bowing to the blushing owner. She made him his usual, warm milk with honey. In return, he offered her a tortoiseshell button, which she accepted with a curtsey and a grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He skipped over the cracks in the pavement, choosing the left path with no hesitation this time. He inhaled deeply. The smell of fall and the forest would always be his heart’s home. He slipped through the gates, careful not to touch the iron with his bare skin. Wisteria stood in the center of the yard, back turned to Acorn. He made his way up to them. Vermillion leaves crumbled under his boots, quiet as whispers. They made no hint that they had noticed him. As Acorn got closer, he could see the guardian weaving protective spells into the mist. Their cold breath streamed from their mouth, floating into the sunlight before shimmering and disappearing. Their hands twitched slightly at their sides, faded fingers tracing the skirt’s embroidery.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Acorn sat next to the spirit, sipping his steaming milk and offering silent company. Wisteria sat with him after a while. They watched the sunrise with soft eyes, mist swirling in the reflective lenses. Whispering, almost to preserve the silence of the morning, Wisteria turned to Acorn. “What are you drinking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morn and merry meet to you, as well.” Acorn said sarcastically, eyes crinkling from his wry smile. Leaning forward, he whispered directly into the guardian’s ear, lips brushing against the shell. “Guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wisteria shivered. Their hands opened an. “Tea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No~”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coffee.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Try again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, blazes!” Wisteria threw their hands into the air. Acorn dissolved into peals of laughter, only laughing harder at the glare they sent his way. “How am I supposed to guess with no sense of smell? Hm? Riddle me that!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Acorn smiled mischievously while filing the information the enby had revealed. Usually, guardian spirits such as themself had full access to senses, going beyond the human capacity of sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell. After years of neglect, a spirit can fade. Never truly gone, of course, but lose what ties them to the present plane of existence. And Wisteria couldn’t smell. They could feel, but -judging by their appearance and actions- they also had impaired sight. Interesting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just one more guess? I’ll tell you after one more.” Acorn promised. Wisteria frowned at the genuine look in his eyes, eliciting a smile from both.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They threw their head back, looking at the sky. “Oh, I don’t know. The blood of your enemies. Three-thousand year old piss.” They rolled their eyes with a smile, leaning back on their hands, stretching out their legs. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Water</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Acorn’s lips twitched into a grin, taking in the spirit lounging in front of him. He offered Wisteria the cup. “Milk and honey.” He explained.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Drat. Should’ve guessed that, I suppose.” Wisteria took the cup, letting the ceramic travel mug warm their hands. The steam swirled around their face. White lashes fluttering closed, they sighed, body curling around the mug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have to… drink it. To taste it.” Acorn pointed out, resulting in an annoyed shove from Wis. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know that, you cuss.” They sipped the warm milk, the honey-sweet and trace of cinnamon lingering on their taste buds. Wis sighed. They let their posture slump, shoulders curling inward as they looked at the sky. Eyes the color of the clouds analyzed the wispy puffs of strata. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Acorn was inexplicably pulled towards the spirit, like they had their own gravity. He found himself leaning forward to watch them more closely. A light blush dusted his cheeks, but he didn’t pull away. “So?” He asked. Startled out of their reverie, Wis turned to him. “Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>like it</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wisteria laughed at Acorn’s serious expression, nodding. “I understand the excitement now. Why all the fair folk I've spoken to love it.” Acorn hummed, watching them slowly savor the drink. They watched each other. Both entities vulnerable, aware of the other’s gaze, but not turning away. An ancient game of chicken, if you will. Acorn was endlessly moving. Stimming, fidgeting, some part of the fae was always in motion. His trenchcoat pockets weighed down with treasures, the rest of his appearance had a lot less thought and care put into it. His honey-amber hair was shaggy and full of small twigs, his shirt a holey sweater. His pants were a sensible pair made from linen, patched with various found fabrics. He took great care of his boots, however. They were the only thing that wasn’t tattered besides the coat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wis was in their regular outfit, a sweater over a button-up shirt, with their embroidered sheer skirt. The shorts underneath were reminiscent of something a dancer would wear, skintight and black. Their whole outfit was very old-fashioned, as could be expected from an old spirit. It was also very… revealing, by those same old standards. You could see their entire legs, and their ankles were constantly exposed. The way they had their collar arranged showed off their neck, something very sensual from the time Acorn could figure they were from. All that said, Wisteria was… stunning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two sat in mutual company, discussing Acorn’s day and how he liked the town. Wisteria smiled when he described the town’s time imprints, providing backgrounds for some of the people he’d seen. Halfway through the day, Acorn asked the question he’d been reflecting on for some time. “If all of your tenants are gone… Why don’t you leave?” He gestured to the gate and the world beyond it. “Find new places, meet new people? Not many go looking like I do for places like these.” He said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And you’re fading away</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But that would’ve been rude to bring up, so he let those bones lie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wisteria sat up a bit straighter, contemplating. “I can’t. I was made when this graveyard needed a protector. If I left, there wouldn’t be anything to sustain me. I’d be gone. Forever.” They looked around, gaze lingering on the gravestones Acorn had started to uncover. “I could tie myself to an object, or a human, but a life of being used and left to rot in some poor old bitty’s attic after she’s gone… You can see how that doesn’t seem appealing.” Wis sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Acorn scrunched up his nose. “You could come with me.” He muttered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could come with me. See the world, life </span>
  <em>
    <span>outside</span>
  </em>
  <span> this place. I won’t be dying anytime soon, nobody here knows how to get rid of me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Wis set down the now-empty mug, hugging their knees to their chest. “Maybe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was a wraith. Dressed in all black, covered head to toe. A wide-brimmed hat covered her head and neck from the sun. Her lacy black dress covered her hands and ankles. She floated through the streets, wandering through the open-air market. Settling under a shaded tree, she opened up her journal and began to write. Documenting everything she saw. But she longed to dance in the sun. Wear clothes to let the light touch her skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that was forbidden. And only lead to pain. So she sat quietly, experiencing the world through her words. Longing for the days when she could climb into the trees, as tall and far as she could reach, and feel the way the birds did, and have only the autumn sky for company. Her black lace veil fluttered in the breeze, a soft, large hand coming up to keep it in place. She fingered the rose detailing, remembering times long since forgotten.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her lips parted into a sad smile.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AAH!! chapter two! this work is like,,, a passion project. i wanna turn it into a movie or a short film someday, but this story is what i'm doing for now. school starts up in a few weeks, but i'm trying to stay monthly with my fic updates so you can still have content! love you guys!<br/>stay safe, drink some water, eat a snack, don't get caught!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Cleaning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>And so she arrives.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again! Back with another chapter and some fun facts in the end notes!<br/>Roast me in the comments if you see a mistake, as I don't have a beta reader and all mistakes are my own.<br/>Don't be afraid to leave a comment about how you feel about the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lemony Snicket once said: ‘I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed this, but first impressions are often entirely wrong.’ </p><p>I’m inclined to agree with the fellow. This town is… odd. In a good way, of course. When she wandered through the woods, leaves whispered beneath her boots. The midwest has more change than her home in the north-west. The rain hangs in the air there. It permeates the very people who live in those misty woods. This little town tells secrets to the wind with every swirl of vermillion leaf. The brick homes lean on each other, vines wrapped around the walls like a hastily thrown-on shawl. Awnings sag under the weight of memories. </p><p>The square proper is a bustle of small stands and a homely cafe. Twisted hands and hunched backs chat back and forth with smiles, offering her jewelry, fresh produce, and the sweetest apple pie west of the Mississippi. She declined most with a closed-lip smile. She did, however, buy a mini cinnamon pie, baked into a homemade ceramic mug. A pet project between neighbors, perhaps. Notebook tucked into apron, she wandered the streets, cradling the mug in her hands. She smiled at the gourds gathered on stoops for Samhain celebrations. With all the trappings of fall come memories of handmade pies and flurries of letters to get ready for the parties. </p><p>She looked down at her writing, doodles of paper airplanes surrounding the scrawled cursive. It was only September, but she longed for October’s excitement and change. The veil between worlds slowly fading to a whisper of lace and expectant breath. Seeing the past was always a blessing and a curse. It reminded her of times long since gone. She didn’t know why she’d returned to the town of her childhood for this dark season, but she was here now. The faces of her friends were gone, but their touch remained in the hand-down pie crust recipe, the chemise in the secondhand shop’s window. </p><p>It was… bittersweet in the best of ways. She stored her fountain pen in her apron, closing her book and making the long walk back to her childhood home. The wild grasses swayed in the breeze, golden hour gilding the clouds and rows of corn stalks. The small stone cottage stood crooked in the overgrown farm, a collapsing wraparound porch and a turret striking a defined silhouette. Ivy climbed the walls. She picked her way over the porch to the door, taking the spare key from where it still sat, tucked inside the hollow of a loose stone. It took some forcing, the door, water damage from spring rains and summers melting paint sticking it to the frame. </p><p>Once she was inside, she opened all the windows to let out the oppressive smell of musk. It couldn’t hurt her, the layers of dust, but that didn’t mean she had to live in a pigsty. Grabbing her besom and taking off her walking skirt lest it get dirty, she went to work. It took most of the day, her enhanced speed doing nothing to help her. She was nothing if not thorough. Starting in the sitting room, she swept the dust out the doors and beat the rugs clean, leaving them out to air. She checked the small bookshelf for damage, grinning wide at the books in the same condition she left them in. Moving to the fireplace, she cleaned the hearth of soot and removed the old logs from inside, adding ‘buy firewood’ to her list of things to do. She documented damage before going to the kitchen. </p><p>Here, there was little work to do. She’d cleaned out the icebox and pantry before she left, so there wasn’t any nasty food to deal with. She dusted the room, going to the linen closet to find a new tablecloth. A lot of the sheets and linens within had been food for moths, but she managed to find an emerald tablecloth in good condition. Looking around the first floor, the dark wood walls started to look like her home again. The stairs were… another story. A few had collapsed, many looked unstable, and the railing had been brought down from it’s hangings on the wall. </p><p>Too dangerous to climb. And so she flew.</p><p>-</p><p>The duo lay in the grass, letting the sunlight warm their bodies. Acorn’s hands were constantly moving. He braided the grass in one hand, the other tracing the lines on Wisteria’s. Wis was more… relaxed, per say. They shimmered in the sunlight, their spectral form wavering in and out of focus. Compared to the blurry slate-gray form from when Acorn first met them? Their body was more substantial now. Less faded. It made him…</p><p>Happy.</p><p>“So what’s my favorite guardian doing today?” He drawled, tuning his head to let his auburn eyes roam lazily over the other figure. Wisteria laughed, a gravel-road after rain sound. They shifted, repositioning their wings underneath them. </p><p>“Absolutely nothing. Usually, I’d be making my rounds, and keeping everything in order.” They paused, playing with the tail end of their black-and-white braid. “But with you here, everything is growing again. I’ve been getting stronger. The wards too.” Wis turned their head to look back at Acorn. “So thank you for that, chuckaboo. Other than that, I’ve been ghosting. The regular spectral to-dos. And you?”</p><p>Acorn looked back up at the clouds, folding his hands beneath his head. “Confusing the townsfolk. Saying hullo to the forest. My usual faerie to-dos.” He said with a flourish, lightly mocking Wis. The specter only laughed.</p><p>“Hey, Wis?”</p><p>“Yes, Mary my love?”</p><p>“Can I groom your wings?”</p><p>Wisteria sat up, hugging their knees to their chest, said wings folded tight to their back. Acorn sat up with them, hands fidgeting with his clothes to keep from hovering over the other’s shoulders. “That was a poorly-worded and intrusive question.” He said, by way of apology in his odd custom.</p><p>“No,” They whispered. Their head rested on their knees. “Not at all. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of different spirits changing shape over time to better serve their purpose.” Wisteria didn’t look over at Acorn, just took his silence as confirmation. “I have these wings. They… fell into disrepair with the graveyard. I’ve needed to clean them, they’re horridly dirty and ragged.”</p><p>“... And?”</p><p>They silently spread their wings and turned away from the boy. The wings weren’t in such a state that they’d described, but they did need some work. The outer side of the feathers was a soft brown speckled with white and gold, the insides a soft blue-grey. Wren wings. Acorn was gentle, brushing off blades of grass and small twigs from between the layered feathers. Wisteria shivered, the feathers fluffing up from underneath his long fingers. He stalled before slowly smoothing them down. The repetitive motions calmed them both, and Wis even cooed, a soft chirping purr. The two laughed a little at the sound.</p><p>“Good news, birdie. None of them need to be plucked, though they could use a good oiling to fix a dash of the splittage.” Acorn said, rocking back on his heels and shaking the tree-bark-colored strands out of his eyes.</p><p>“<em> Wonderful </em>.” Wis responded, the eye roll evident in their tone. “I owe you something, let me sing you a song.” They lay backwards, maneuvering their small form so that their head was in Acorn’s lap.</p><p>Acorn grinned down at him, sunlight glinting off the two small stones inlaid in his canines. “You don’t have to do that, my sweet.”</p><p>“And be indebted to you for spirit’s know how long? I should think not!” They scoffed. Acorn’s hands moved to their hair, unbraiding it from it’s plait and rebraiding it with small flowers. The enby started to hum, picking a tune from the wind and weaving it into a familiar song. </p><p>
  <em> That’s it, it’s split, it won’t recover, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Just frame the halves, and call them brothers. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Find your fathers, and your mothers, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> If you remember who they are. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Over and over, they call us their friends. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Can’t we find something else to pretend? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Like nobody’s won, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And we’re safe at the end~ </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The song at the very end is Call Them Brothers by Regina Spektor! I have a inspo playlist on my spotify, "faepunk" by banannasarehellagay.<br/>Mary is an old 1800s term for gay people, just a small detail! Wisteria would be the one victorian enby to listen to 100gecs sklhdgkjd.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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